


Spider Sense

by laEsmeralda



Category: Spider-Man (Movies - Raimi)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry rips off Spider-Man's mask, he begins to take revenge and finds it isn't what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spider Sense

Harry rose from where he had fallen on the floor. The dagger lay cast aside. He still clutched the red and blue mask in one hand. He looked at it and then dropped it.

"Pete," he said again, still stunned.

Peter didn't respond with words, only with his eyes. He waited, bound, for Harry's next decision. 

It seemed that for months past, whenever he saw Harry, he had smelled whisky. And those wet eyes were constantly hollowed with grief, even when Harry smiled for the press or for Peter. 

He was not smiling for Peter now. Because Peter was _the bug_.

Harry stood, grim-faced, trembling. He spoke. "You. My best friend, you killed my _father_."

Peter shook his head but wouldn't argue, couldn't. To tell the whole truth, to give any explanation, would hurt Harry more than to remain silent. There had been enough unmasking for one night. "I would never intentionally hurt you, Harry," he said. The barbed wire dug into his arms and chest. He was now strong enough to break free, but he waited.

"Does that mean you didn't kill my father? Am I supposed to _believe_ that?" 

There was only so much a guy could take. Life had been a string of horribles for months. The compassion of people on the train today was the only bright moment he had felt since those few misguided days of ignoring Spider-man. His eyes clouded over with tears. 

Harry frowned, watching wetness slide down the sides of Peter's face to dampen his hair. He snarled, "Spider-man cries?" But the sight of Peter's tears started his own again. "God damn it, I have to stop crying. I've been crying for two fucking years!" He dragged his arm across his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Peter said. "I'm so sorry, Harry." His voice cracked a little. He shifted gingerly, trying to loosen the bonds without cutting himself.

Harry's eyes followed the undulation. "How did I not know?" He reached out and touched a hard shoulder before pulling away in shock. "Your voice." He swallowed. "Your smell."

Peter couldn't place the emotion in Harry's voice. "Amazing what a simple mask does," he answered without sarcasm. 

"The answer was walking around in front of me, sharing my fucking apartment. When did _this_ happen to your body? How did I not notice?"

Peter closed his eyes. "I wear loose clothes, like always. No one notices." He opened his eyes again to Harry's accusing gaze. "And it's been a really long time since you touched me at all except to shake my hand. You've been angry at me."

Harry’s frown hadn’t subsided. "I couldn't understand why you would protect the bug instead of me."

"I've always protected you." Peter looked away. "So has the bug." 

Harry reached out again in apparent fascination and touched the plane of Peter's stomach. "This isn't normal. Human."

"No. I haven't been human, not really, since that spider in the lab bit me. Remember that field trip?"

"Jesus. Peter, why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know.” The moment drew out, too long. “No, wait. I do know. At first, I just felt like a freak, I didn't know what was happening. Then, the spider took over, warning me to stay in the shadows. To hide. I can't help it."

"I was your best friend. I would have helped you."

Peter bit back the retort that came to mind in light of his present captivity. And the past tense of Harry's statement hurt. But it was true, he hadn't trusted anyone to know, not even Harry. "I'm sorry. I really needed help. But I couldn't tell, couldn’t ask. I can't explain better than that."

Harry got up and went to the desk. Peter heard him rifling through it. He came back with something gleaming in his hand. Peter flinched. Harry knelt down. He used the shears to snip a section of wire and pull it out of the bloody, punctured flesh. Peter made a small noise of discomfort being eased. Harry stopped, his eyes flicking to Peter's. "Does it hurt?"

"The stuff still on me does, yeah."

"I promised my father to inflict pain on you. I keep my word." Harry's eyes were still wet, his tone unreadable. 

"You've inflicted a lot of pain on me already," Peter replied, hoarsely. He reflected on the tragic interaction of the promises Norman Osborne had extracted from both of them.

"We're not _even_ yet." Harry snipped another section and lifted it free, revealing a rip in the suit. He watched the torn skin heal. He rubbed his fingers over it, confirming what his eyesight told him. "That's fucking weird."

Peter knew Harry could feel his heart beating against his fingers; it should have been a humanizing moment. Peter's sense of danger had subsided, meaning that Harry's intention must have changed, but Harry wasn't cutting him loose very quickly. Peter lay as still as he could with the barbs digging into his back and watched Harry's face. The tortured eyes were so dark. Peter could smell the whisky, the sorrow, and something else. He felt hot. A bead of sweat trickled and he shuddered as it tickled his neck. 

Harry caught it with his fingers and wiped it away. Then, he lifted his fingers to his mouth and tasted. "Funny, you taste normal." His eyes flicked back to Peter's.

Fire surged through Peter, catching him off guard. He was aware of his cock hardening, suddenly and powerfully. Out of nowhere. 

Harry lowered his hand, his lips glistening. 

"Why did you do that?" Peter blurted out the words as he tried to absorb his own reaction.

"It occurs to me that I'm going about this vengeance promise the wrong way." He replaced his fingertips on Peter's sternum, below the barbed wire, and slowly traced a line down the center of Peter's stomach, down his abdomen.

"Harry, stop." Peter panicked.

The fingers stopped. Harry's eyes didn't leave Peter's. "Afraid of what I'll find?" Despite the harsh tone, Harry's chin trembled. 

Terrified, Peter answered without hesitation, "Yes." The fingers circled the general area of Peter's navel. He couldn't feel the barbs any longer. "I-- I don't--" He felt himself flush.

"You do." Harry resumed his earlier path and reached his destination. "Apparently." He squeezed. 

Light burst behind Peter's eyes. No one had ever touched his hardened cock but him. His arms flexed, digging the barbs in deep, and he forced himself to relax.

Then, Harry's eyes left his and traveled to watch the hand as it moved over Peter. "I'll stop if you ask me to." His voice sounded thick.

Peter's heart was already heaving out of his chest. Harry's touch, even through the suit, was excruciatingly good. Harry pushed in to sit next to him on the edge of the couch, jolting Peter further over with his hip. Peter winced as the barbs dragged with him. 

"Shh. I'll get you out of that in a minute. Does it still hurt?" Harry stroked up with the flat of his hand, hard, and rubbed in a little circle. "I hope so."

Breathing hard and fast through his nose wasn't getting him enough air. 

"You see yourself as a giver, Peter, self-sacrificing. But you take. You take people's hearts, their loved ones. Their feelings."

Peter shook his head but couldn't find the words. After all, it was true. All true. 

"Do you want her? MJ? Even knowing that I still do?" 

The hand was maddening. "Yes," Peter hissed. No point in lying now. About anything.

Harry stroked harder. "Do you want me?" 

Peter struggled for a moment to reconcile with the truth. "Yes," his voice broke. 

"Here's the vengeance part, then. _You can't have either one of us_." Harry went quiet for a few moments. "But I'm having you, aren't I?" The thin, strong fabric was slick on the inside now, and Harry took advantage. 

With a little cry of protest against the sudden shock of more pleasure, Peter came. 

He lay shaking, his eyes closed. He gathered his courage to open them. Harry's face was twisted with conflicted emotions. Peter did see--amid the anger bordering on hate, the grief, the confusion and self-loathing--a flicker of that special look his old friend used to wear when they were having a good time, just the two of them. Before Spider-man. It dawned on him that it hadn't been just a look of friendship. 

The flicker quickly faded. "Don't get much action, hm?" Harry said nastily. "Or are you just quick on the trigger? A hero like you must have a lot of admirers. What a disappointment when they finally touch you." He massaged lightly with his palm, emphasizing the fluid pooled between skin and cloth. 

Harry's touch and the spider's powers of recovery had Peter hard again in a few surges of his blood, despite the pain Harry's words caused. He caught Harry's look of surprise, the involuntary squeeze of his hand in response. Peter's tears rolled again. He just couldn't keep all the emotions, all the words, bottled. Anger pushed at his ribcage. "I saw you, Harry, heard you, with all those women. And then with MJ. I loved her since we were kids. You knew that. But you dated her anyway. Then, you pushed _me_ away, questioned my loyalty." Peter swallowed hard trying to stop the tears. "I can't have anyone. I've never _been_ with anyone. Did you know that?"

Harry snatched his hand back, his face white. "Oh, God. That was the first--"

"Yes," Peter spat the word at him. 

"Why didn't you _stop_ me?" Harry was horrified. He stood and backed up until his legs hit a chair.

"I didn't want you to stop." Peter sat up. "I could have stopped you from taking the mask. I could have broken these whenever I wanted." Peter sat up and flexed his muscles, ignoring the pain, and the barbed wire snapped, falling away. Little trickles of blood started for a few moments and then dried. 

Harry ran a trembling hand through his hair. "Jesus. I don't know what to say."

Now that everything was in ruins, what did it matter? "Just tell me where he is. He's got MJ." Spider-man was back on duty.

Anger flashed again across Harry's features. "He won't hurt her. He just used her to get you for me." Harry paled again. "That wasn't part of my plan. I told him not to hurt you."

"If he finishes that machine, he'll kill her along with half the city. There's more going on here than you and me. Tell me where he is."  
*******

Peter lay on his bed, trying to overcome his many anxieties so that he could sleep. Late morning, oddly, was always the best time for that, the time of least violent crime. But he couldn't sleep. He had unpaid rent. Aunt May had decided to leave the home she and Uncle Ben had worked so hard to keep. He had forced MJ to go back to her fiancé. The fact of her love for Peter almost made the pain worse. If it could be worse.

Because he was suffering anyway, he allowed his thoughts to slide to Harry. Unusual feelings roiled around, confused, in his chest. Harry had been his friend. At some point, though, Harry had wanted to be more than his friend. Peter had been drawn to him without recognizing the unwished-for element, the unspeakable pull that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. As usual, his self-denial, his paralysis, had led him to disaster. 

Now, it was too late. They were enemies. Harry wanted to hurt him. To torture him. Peter wondered how much grief a person could hold and still live. He was learning his limits.

He was dozing from sheer exhaustion when he heard a soft rapping on his door. Not the landlord's harsh pounding. Not the kind and timid knock of the landlord's daughter. No one with dangerous intent.

He sat up, drowsily. "Coming." Wobbling to his feet, he made it to the front door by the third knock. He opened the door to Harry. Now, he was wide awake.

Harry was frowning. "Can I come in?" he asked. Without answering, Peter stepped back, making way. "Jesus, Peter." Harry scanned the apartment with obvious disapproval. He set down his briefcase and shrugged off his suit coat, tossing it over the lone kitchen chair.

"I keep it clean, what's your problem?" Peter answered, defensively. Of course, to Harry, this was a hovel. Hell, even to someone used to poverty it was a hole. Thinking about this, he was unprepared when Harry met his eyes. In Harry's gaze, he read concern for the first time in a long time.

"I get that what you do is a thankless task, this secret life." Harry walked to the window. "It's worse than a thankless task, it's a punished task."

Feeling a little menaced, unable to read Harry's tone, Peter wondered why his spider-sense wasn't shrieking at him. What was shrieking at him was the difference in being around Harry since the revelation. Peter had never been turned on by him before that awful night. At this moment, having Harry brush past him into the room, catching the light scent of delicate cologne, noticing how his shoulders moved when they shrugged, these things had his head swimming.

"Can I get you something?" Peter thought about it a moment. "A glass of water? Sorry, but that's what I've got." He turned to the fridge.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks."

Politeness. He didn't know what to make of that. Harry had been so vicious those two nights ago. Peter took the chipped pitcher from the fridge and poured the glasses with shaking hands. Turning and handing one to Harry, he caught Harry's eyes. He would have dropped the glass but for the spider hairs on his fingertips. He had seen Harry look at enough women that way to know exactly what it was. As usual, he was paralyzed.

Harry took the glass with a wry little smile, a self-deprecating smile that failed to displace the lust. "I've always been shit at covering my feelings. Not at all like you." He drank deeply and set the glass down. "You understand my hate. That's why you don't defend yourself." He stepped closer. "What you don't understand is my love. Probably because I don't understand it myself." Harry lifted a hand and brushed a knuckle up Peter's cheek. "Help me explain it to us."

Peter shivered at the touch but otherwise didn't move. Harry stepped closer, almost touching Peter's chest with his. The curly head lowered so that Harry could whisper against Peter's neck. "I can't say that I'm sorry for my anger, or my hate. I lost my father. I can say that I'm sorry for what I've done to you. The past couple of years. And especially the other night." His lips barely touched Peter's neck under his ear. "You were letting me, but I didn't know that, I thought I had you there helpless. What kind of a sick fuck does that?"

Peter had been thinking about it. A great deal. "The kind of guy who still hears his father in his head, telling him he's weak. Telling him that the ends justify the means." Peter did not contradict the wrongness of the actions. He lifted his hands and put them on Harry's shoulders. It was almost, not quite, an embrace.

"You're such a good boy," Harry murmured. "Do you always have to be such a good boy?"

Peter squeezed with one hand. "It just doesn't seem to work out for anyone when I'm not."

Harry's hands went to Peter's waist. "I love that you're that way. It wasn't fun being compared to perfect Peter, but that's between my father and me. Not your fault."

The apartment was warm anyway, even on a cool morning like this. It felt oppressively hot to Peter. The excess energy trapped in the room couldn't possibly escape, even through the wide-open windows. He waited. What the hell was he waiting for?

"Can I touch you?" Harry asked. "More? I feel like... like I should ask."

Peter pulled him in and held him tightly. "Yes. Please." But he couldn't let go, he couldn't loosen his grip to allow for anything else. Then, he was flat out crying his eyes out, and Harry was holding him. Soothing him. Stroking his back, petting him. 

"Peter, Peter, I'm so sorry." He rocked Peter, swaying with him, letting his own tears run freely. At length, Harry spoke again. "This feels good," he said, "it's grief, but not the self-pity I've wallowed in for two years." 

After the blind rush of emotion, as Peter started to calm, Harry's presence washed over him again along with the unfamiliar sensation of being held. Harry's body felt strong. He was doing exactly the right things. The needed things. Peter realized how starved he was for someone to touch him. Not just someone. Harry. Even the angry directness of Harry's questions the other night had gone to his core. _Do you want me?_ He felt his cock jump at the recollection. When that happened, the movement of Harry's hands changed. The soothing changed to coaxing. It was subtle but effective.

"I can't take back the way I touched you the other night," Harry said. "Let me do it the way I should have. The way I really wanted to."

"I'd take more of the way it was if that was all you could feel for me," Peter replied, his face burning.

Harry pushed free and took Peter's face in his hands. "No," he said firmly and kissed him. Peter responded with fervor. He couldn't help it, he moaned, plaintively, through the kiss. Harry pulled his lips away. "God, you're killing me already." He kept his hips pressed against Peter and rocked once. "Feel me?"

Peter nodded, panting, unable to speak. Harry steered them to the pathetic little bed and dragged Peter onto it. His hands were suddenly all over Peter's jeans, kneading his ass, tugging at his crotch. "I can't seem to go slowly," he groaned. 

"I don't want you to go slowly," replied Peter, clutching at Harry. "Not this time." He took a deep breath. "Just don't--"

"--hurt you," finished Harry. He kissed Peter again, ravenous but gentle. "I wouldn't for anything. Not anymore" He tore at Peter's jeans and then slid down the bed, pushing up Peter's shirt so urgently that Peter reached to strip off the offending garment. 

At the first hungry snuffle against his cock, Peter felt an overwhelming surge. Then, Harry's mouth almost destroyed him. "Stop, wait," Peter begged, and Harry paused, still keeping a firm grip with his hand.

"What," Harry replied, softly. "Too hard?"

"No," groaned Peter. "I'm having trouble... controlling myself."

"That's simple." Harry's teeth flashed in a grin. "Don't."

"But you said--"

"I was a bastard. Look, having someone else touch you is totally different. You have to get used to it. I bet you could beat off for a half-hour, easy, am I right?"

Peter would have shut his eyes in embarrassment, but he couldn't, not if it meant shutting out the overheated gaze that hovered over him. He nodded.

"Mm." Harry's expression made Peter's stomach flip. "Okay, so here's the thing. If you come fast, well, we already know you can recover, right?" Harry emphasized with a generous swipe of his tongue. Peter quivered. Harry went back to blowing him. Blowing his mind. 

He was letting go, feeling the wave swell, when a horrible thought occurred to him and he bolted upright, pushing at Harry's shoulders. "Harry, stop. Stop." Harry's face was startled this time at the urgency. "Listen, it isn't safe," Peter explained.

Harry regarded him as if measuring his words carefully. "You've been with someone else?"

"No," Peter replied, confused. 

"Needles?" Harry's eyebrows arched higher.

"No! I might be _poisonous_." He put his face on one knee. "It never occurred to me."

Harry sat up. He was quiet for a long minute. "But I didn't die from kissing you." He kissed Peter again for emphasis. "I didn't die from licking your sweat off my fingers." He bit an earlobe. "I haven't gotten sick on your precum, and man, there's a _lot_ of that."

The words, and the tone in which they were delivered, so dazzled Peter's faculties that he struggled to respond. "Let's not take the chance. Besides, I want... " He wanted to reciprocate. He didn't know how the hell to say that without it sounding formal. 

"To suck _my_ cock?" Harry again completed his sentence for him. Peter groaned. Harry chuckled. "Okay, wait a minute. I've got a solution." Harry got up and went to his briefcase. 

It was Peter's turn for arched eyebrows when Harry returned with a strip of condoms. "Yes. I always carry them," he said. He tossed them on the tiny bedside table. "Where were we?"

Peter was flustered again. So Harry crawled in behind him and pressed his clothed body against Peter's back. His hand slid around front and took a firm grip. "Let's see if my preferred technique works for you." In five minutes, Harry had Peter out of his mind. "Yeah, this seems to work," Harry said, breathlessly. "It's really beautiful," he continued, "I wanted to see you that night." Then, he seemed to check himself from referring further to the prior encounter, but Peter moaned and thrust into his hand, encouraging. Harry nuzzled into his neck again, still watching. "You had me so hot." He pressed himself against the small of Peter's back. The fine cloth chafed over Peter's ass. "Just rubbing my hands over you had me crazy. After you left, I beat off, _hard_." That was it. Peter came, magnificently, stifling himself in the pillow. After the last throbbing subsided, leaving him gasping, Harry clasped his face and turned him into a kiss. 

"God, yeah, Parker," Harry said after they parted. 

"I think I ruined your shirtsleeve," Peter said meekly. 

"Who cares." Harry stood and started stripping efficiently. Tie, shirt, shoes, trousers, socks, briefs. 

Peter came to his senses a little more and peeled his jeans off the rest of the way. He turned the blanket back, covering the wet spots and exposing the cooler sheets. He reached for Harry and pulled him back onto the bed, flipping him onto his back. 

"No fair using bug-strength," said Harry, his eyes large, though his cock was eager enough.

"I'm trying to be careful," Peter replied, contritely, "but I'm so... hot. And I have no idea what I'm doing. Sorry." 

Harry ripped open a condom and got it on himself. Peter tentatively brushed his fingers over the powdery surface and put them in his mouth, discovering vanilla. This made him grin and he bent to take Harry in. 

"Fuck, yes," said Harry, enthusiastically. After a minute or so, he added, "Great mouth."

Peter did what he thought would feel good and discovered he was right. When Harry was on the edge, Peter paused. He waited until Harry squirmed and then resumed. And paused. Six or so times, he managed this feat. He was ready to bring Harry off, despite the ache in his unpracticed jaw, when Harry stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. 

"That's fucking fantastic, but I want something else."

"What?"

"Lube? A guy who fucks his own hand for a half-hour must have lube." White teeth glinted.

Peter was fairly certain lube was not the final request, but he rummaged around for it anyway. 

"Good, this'll work with condoms," Harry said after squinting at the label. He tore open another package. "C'mere." Peter complied, soon finding himself wearing a condom. He watched in strange detachment as Harry's firm hand deliciously applied lube to Peter's cock. "Now, then. Don't freak out on me."

"I'm not," Peter replied, his heart pounding, wondering why he would. 

Harry reached between his own legs and applied lube well behind his balls, making his cock flex in response. 

Peter blinked in surprise. "Man, I can't... do _that_ to you."

"I want you to."

"It'll hurt. It'd hurt me if you did it." Peter was aghast.

"I'm not asking to do _you_. Don't make me beg, Peter."

"I'm not trying to make you beg." He watched as Harry reached above and grabbed the cheap headboard. 

"If it really freaked you out, you'd lose that hard-on of yours. But you haven't lost it."

Good point. Peter observed how Harry had stretched out along the bed, emphasizing his body. He observed his own hyper-aroused response. 

Harry parted his thighs in an unmistakable invitation. "Just rub the tip over me for a little while. You don't have to do any more than that." 

In a daze, Peter moved between Harry's legs and knelt close. He grasped himself and began rubbing his cockhead against Harry. He feared that the sliding sensation might do him in again very soon, but it seemed to only serve to make him harder. Harry took hold of his own cock and followed Peter's rhythm with long, slow strokes. Peter began to have the urge to thrust forward. 

Harry guided Peter's free hand underneath them to help him get a firm grip on Harry's ass. "Press in a little," he said. Peter did. It wasn't easy, there was a moment of intense resistance. "Don't pull back, keep going." 

He did, fearful when he saw pain flicker across Harry's features. But the resistance suddenly eased and he pushed faster then he intended, plunging the rest of the way in. Harry sucked in a breath. Peter froze. "Sorry!"

But Harry didn't look hurt. He looked hot. Squirming. His mouth was open. He moaned and the sound of it wasn't hurt at all. For the first time, Peter was able to pay attention to how this felt. He rocked against Harry, a small thrust, nothing too ambitious. His cock was being squeezed hard. "Whoa, yeah," he heard himself say. 

Near-black eyes glittered at him. "Peter, I like to be fucked hard, but I'm a little afraid to say that to you. You know?"

"Because of what I'll think or because of strength?"

"Both."

"Why did you want me to do this?"

"I want to hold you. Close as I can." He arched the small of his back and that caused his body to grip Peter tighter. 

"I don't think it gets any closer," breathed Peter. He started thrusting. It felt fantastic. Never having fucked anyone before, he hoped he was managing okay. 

Harry made a sort of soft yowling noise that went straight to Peter's cock. Peter thrust harder. "This really isn't hurting you?"

"No," Harry said, and Peter believed him. On the in-stroke, he made that noise again. 

Peter had a grip on both hips now. He decided he wanted to feel Harry's cock in his hand. He peeled away the condom and stroked over the bare flesh. It was a little awkward, trying to fuck him hard and stroke him at the same time, but he fell into a rhythm, disregarding the sweat that dripped from him onto Harry.

More inarticulate noises from Harry. His head was flung back, and his hands gripped the headboard. "Harder," Harry whispered, and when Peter responded with deeper thrusts, he suddenly said, "Oh, coming," much softer than would have foretold the physical response that followed. He came all over in thick bursts, arching up off the bed, and groaning, "Peter."

The rippling around Peter's cock stopped the universe for what seemed like a full minute before it milked the pleasure from him almost violently, finding it everywhere in his body, even deep in his bones, and pulling it out through his cock. He heard himself crying out, "Yes," repeatedly before everything went white.

He sat back on his heels so as not to collapse on Harry, his hands bracing on Harry's hips. Harry reached for a tissue. "Grab the ring while you pull out," he said. As Peter followed instructions, Harry hissed a little. He slipped the condom off Peter and rolled it into the tissue. Then, he turned back to Peter. "Easy, it's okay to come down here," Harry said. "You're looking a little wild-eyed."

"The world just imploded." Peter nestled into the crook of Harry's arm. He couldn't resist the fascination of running his fingers through the spent orgasm. "That was amazing. It was a lot."

"It only happens like that from being fucked," Harry said, quietly.

Peter wanted to ask so many things. In all their years of being close, he had never fantasized about Harry in a sexual way. Or another guy for that matter. He couldn't understand where the consuming lust for Harry had come from. He had dreams and daydreams of laughing with Harry, being held in his friend's arms. On a couple of drunken occasions after the spider bite, when they were roommates, he had slept in Harry's bed, curled around him. It always felt good. Right. Never like sex. Of course, what had sex been but his own hands before the other night? He had repressed everything he wanted too well.

Clearly, Harry was experienced with guys. Peter wanted to ask about his too. He didn't. "That was incredible," he said. "Thank you."

Harry turned toward him and stroked his face. "It was so wrong to touch you like I did before. Please forgive me."

"I wanted you to do it." Peter studied the dark eyes and realized that he had to say it. "I already forgave you. Or we wouldn't be here."

"You never thought about me this way, did you?" There was no accusation in Harry's voice, just calm.

Peter shook his head. "Not until you... licked your fingers after touching me. That triggered something."

Harry sighed. "I hoped you did, that you had wanted me as long as I wanted you."

"I did, but it's different. I wanted your love, all the time. I... I don't seem to be allowed to have what I want. So I try not to want. But often, alone in my room, I'd think about having your arms around me."

Harry held him tighter. "But it didn't make you hard."

"No," Peter replied, honestly, in a small voice, "it made me happy."

"Oh. What about now?"

"What do you think?" Peter laughed.

"You were hard enough." Harry kissed him. "What if it's a fleeting thing?" he murmured afterward. 

"I don't think so," Peter replied. He took Harry's hand and brushed it over his re-hardened cock.

"Christ. Maybe you're just sex-starved. I mean, you're nineteen."

Peter shook his head. "Last night, after I got back from... helping, I thought about you then. About your hand on me, the way your eyes looked. I had to change the sheets afterward."

"Oh, yeah, that's the stuff," Harry groaned. 

"I can't explain it. Except that you're you. And I love you." Peter knew that Harry had said his name during orgasm. He figured it was safe to mention love.

"I dealt with it the wrong way, of course. By letting a guy who looked like you pick me up. And then by picking up guys who looked like you. I can't believe you never noticed."

"I never thought you liked guys. What about MJ?"

"Women are great for fun. And MJ, well, we both know she's special. That's a discussion for another time." Harry snuggled closer. "How was losing your virginity?"

"Fantastic."

"I can't let you stay here, Peter."

"What?"

"In this shitty place. I need you in my bed. I need to know you're comfortable, you're eating decent food. You can still have your own space, your own rooms. But don't stay here."

Peter swallowed hard. "I go out all the time, I'm... the bug, after all. I have to. I don't want to upset you."

Harry smiled. "Just promise that if I'm sleeping when you come home, you'll fuck me awake." A thrill passed through Peter's exhausted body. "I promise to come for you."

"God, the way you talk."

"Hm," Harry laughed, "wait until you figure out the way I _think_." He tugged on a piece of Peter's hair. "We'll fight. I'm not saying it'll be perfect. I'm a narcissist. I'm spoiled. In fact, I'm thoroughly fucked up."

"I don't need perfect," replied Peter, "I need your love."  
*******

**Author's Note:**

> Written July 2004


End file.
